


Love, Love, Love

by KaerWrites



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Accidental Self Harm, Act 2 post breakup, Angst, Jealous Anders, M/M, Songfic, alcohol use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:33:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24673912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaerWrites/pseuds/KaerWrites
Summary: Love, Love, Love, by Of Monsters and Men, has always felt like the fenhawke post breakup song to me. I thought this might be a little too long to post without a cut on tumblr, so here we are.
Relationships: Fenris/Male Hawke
Comments: 20
Kudos: 71





	Love, Love, Love

“I want you to know, I think it’s despicable what you did to Hawke.”

For a long moment Fenris stared at the hand that gripped his wrist so tightly, stopping his hand on its journey to his next glass of wine. Eternities were born and faltered and lost before he thought to lift his eyes to the source of the voice – the quick, low, and vicious murmur that struck the moment the others were far enough away that they would not be able to hear it. Anders waited for his response; he wanted to be sure the knife cut deep.

“Do you want me to say it again?” the mage demanded. “Despicable.”

As usual, Fenris wasn’t sure what the point of the antagonism was. Fighting with the mage or ignoring him, neither brought about a situation that seemed to please. Not that Fenris cared one way or the other whether Anders was _pleased_ with their interactions. Today he was tired, and his soul ached, and the idea of trying to explain or defend himself to _anyone_ was nauseating. He might also have been a little drunk. Something deep in the pit of him had gone numb, and he feared what would happen when it woke.

He shouldn’t have come here.

“You had him,” Anders hissed. “You had _everything_. And you couldn’t even appreciate that.”

Turning his wrist, Fenris pulled free from the blonde’s grasp in one singular, hard motion. Free of impediment, his hand continued its journey to a drink. Not content with his lack of response, Anders followed when he turned away.

“Are you happy with yourself?” the mage demanded. “You’ve broken him in a way I didn’t think was possible. _I’m_ the one who’s always loved him. _I’m_ the one who found him. _I’m_ the one who watched him mourn you. _I’m_ the one who’s going to be there to pick up the pieces once he’s realized what you are.”

Fenris, slowly, lifted his eyes.

He said, “Then why are you over here with me, and not even now at his side?”

\--

_Well maybe I’m a crook for stealing your heart away_

_Yeah, maybe I’m a crook for not caring for it_

_Yeah, maybe I’m a bad, bad, bad, bad person_

_Well, baby, I know_

\--

“You’re right,” Anders said. He laughed. The hatred that burned in his eyes was bright, flickering with jealousy. “You’re right,” he said again. “I’m going to be the one who makes him happy.”

“Then do it,” Fenris whispered.

He didn’t turn as the mage stalked away. He didn’t need to look to know where Hawke was, to feel the weight and the heat of his heavy amber gaze. After three years spent slowly falling into the illusion that a man as tainted and tattered – as _shattered_ \- as Fenris knew he was could find happiness, he knew the exact shape and dimension that Hawke cut in the free space of a room.

Maybe Anders _would_ do it. Maybe he could find a way to slot himself into the empty corners in Hawke’s life, trespass among all the secret, sacred places that had once, to Fenris, felt like home. Maybe he would give to Hawke everything that Hawke deserved.

Or maybe it would be someone else who did it. It didn’t matter. The idea burned like acid, like raw lyrium, cutting a new and tortured track through whatever parts of his heart had been left intact.

Hawke would find happiness with someone, someday, and his gaze would no longer burn like the scorch of summer sun. Fenris had given up his claim.

\--

_And these fingertips_

_Will never run through your skin_

_And those bright blue eyes_

_Can only meet mine across the room filled with people that are less important than you_

_\--_

__Leandra was throwing the party, and Fenris didn’t know why he was there, except that he’d promised to come, before he’d ruined everything, and some pained, pitiable, pathetic part of him had relished the thought that Hawke might throw him out. That that would make things easier, somehow. If Hawke would hurry up and hate him, then maybe he could forget what it had been like for Hawke to love him.

In the dining room, he accepted another drink from a passing waiter, and ducked a question from a Kirkwall nobleman who thought the presence of so many _knife ears_ at Hawke’s party had to be some kind of joke he wasn’t drunk enough to get yet. Fenris was the joke; he just hadn’t found the punchline yet. More’s the pity. The nobleman was on his own.

Hawke’s gaze followed him in a way that he knew the man could not. He was too good, had too much honor. Hawke loved him too much. He would give him what he asked for and he would not press and Fenris hated him for it, in a way, because his kindness was more painful than his fury ever could have been. Because if Hawke gave him what he wanted, if Hawke stayed away, then he was every bit as good as Fenris had always known him to be, and Fenris more the fool for walking away.

\--

_All ‘cause you love, love, love_

_When you know I can’t love_

_You love, love, love_

_When you know I can’t love_

_You love, love, love_

_When you know I can’t love you_

_\--_

“You look like you’re going to be sick,” Isabela said, and she sounded amused at first, and then concerned. “Are you going to be sick?” She exchanged a glance with Merrill, and reached to press the back of her hand to his forehead, and Fenris avoided the gesture of care, traded it for another drink, ducked from the dining room and into the kitchen and somehow, _somehow_ he could still feel Hawke’s eyes, though he didn’t dare to look.

Somewhere on the floor above them, there was a room where he and Hawke had pressed, skin to skin and breath to breath, heart to heart, trembling and honest and aching and real. Somewhere above him was the bed that held the ghost of the man Fenris had been two weeks ago, when he had still been fool enough to think there were parts of him that Danarius could not have destroyed.

He dodged servants, and hot pans, and the chaos of the kitchens. The garden door was unlocked.

The cool night air hit his face like a slap, and he was grateful.

\--

_So I think it’s best we both forget before we dwell on it_

_The way you held me so tight_

_All through the night_

_‘Til it was near morning_

_\--_

It wasn’t winter yet, but the south was cooler than northern Tevinter, and Fenris shivered in the garden, and stared up at the light in a window above, as if he could pick out the silhouette of their lovemaking among the threads of the curtains. He told himself that he was cold, that it was something other than his own shade that haunted him.

 _I love you_ , Hawke had told him, again and again. _I love you, I love you, I love you_ , and Fenris had believed him, until he’d woken up, and remembered all the reasons that Hawke could not. There was nothing left to him but raw, bitter anger. A gentle touch, a lingering kiss. Alien concepts, unfamiliar and unwelcome. Fenris was not made for love. Hawke should have known. They both should have known.

They should have seen he was broken. They were both responsible.

\--

_‘Cause you love, love, love_

_When you know I can’t love_

_You love, love, love_

_When you know I can’t love_

_You love, love, love_

_When you know I can’t love you_

_\--_

Fenris heard the footfall. He felt Hawke’s approach. He’d known he would follow, just as he knew he would be perfect. Hawke wouldn’t push, wouldn’t press. Hawke could only look at him when Fenris was unable to return the favor, these days. Fenris felt his eyes, and he felt his hurt, and he felt his love, and he wished it would stop, and he wished it wouldn’t, and he wished that night had never happened, and he wished that it had never ended.

“You’re bleeding,” Hawke said, quiet, and Fenris stared at the shards of broken wine glass in the grass, and he listened to Hawke’s approach, and he ached.

The mage’s hands were big, and calloused, and powerful – but they were gentle when the lifted Fenris’s hand to examine the damage, when they so carefully plucked the few remaining shards from the wound. Fenris didn’t remember breaking the glass.

Hawke paused when he pushed back his sleeve, and found the red band there. Neither spoke, neither breathed, for several long moments. Finally, Hawke tugged the sleeve back down. The surge of magic that healed the wound was as careful and as gentle as Hawke could make it.

“This is going to be hard for a long time,” Hawke said, so softly. His voice was rough. “I think – I think it’s good that it’s hard. It’s hard because it’s real.”

“You should move on,” Fenris told him, and Hawke, smoothing his thumbs over healed flesh, said no.

“My feelings aren’t going to change, Fenris,” Hawke said. “Take all the time you need.”

\--

_All ‘cause you love, love, love_

_When you know I can’t love_

_You love, love, love_

_When you know I can’t love_

_You love, love, love_

_When you know I can’t love you_

**Author's Note:**

> Love, Love, Love, by Of Monsters and Men, has always felt like the fenhawke post breakup song to me. I thought this might be a little too long to post without a cut on tumblr, so here we are.


End file.
